


grave concerns.

by alright_alright



Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Confessions, Dialogue Heavy, Drunken Confessions, I Don't Even Know, I Tried, Insomnia, Late Night Conversations, Mentions of Communism, Sappy, Winter, also i'm sorry tweek is a bit of a hothead, at the time, briefly mentions communism, craig is kind of drunk too, half a shoe, i thought it was funny, i'm sorry for swearing, it felt appropriate, it's basically dialogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2019-01-20 02:29:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12423201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alright_alright/pseuds/alright_alright
Summary: Tweek's got insomnia. Craig's a little drunk and infatuated.





	grave concerns.

**Author's Note:**

> hey dudes, i don't know what i made here but i hope it's enjoyable. first time writing sappy sappiness. i thought parts of it were funny and i kinda just wanna let it go. i want it out of my system hahaha. thanks for reading, if you hate/like it, be honest and comment below. i appreciate that and i won't bite back; promise. even if you're really mean.
> 
> EDIT (not really but kinda): super honored that this little story got translated into russian here by the lovely deanastia: https://ficbook.net/readfic/6123670

Something happened for Tweek to smell like he’d dug his own plot of dirt and laid around in it, waiting to die. The window was pretty busted up, Craig’s old shoe and worn drumstick sat on the sill, holding it open. The night air reeked of menthols, gasoline and dirty snow. Tweek’s feet were muddy and cold. Craig stood facing him, half a shoe (yes, _half_ ) and a violent expression.

“Why don’t _you_ tell me your problems?”

“What the hell happened to _you_!?” 

“See, see? That’s exactly what I mean.” Craig paces, flinging the shoe around. “ _Why_ do we always have to talk about me? I mean, _fuck_ , Tweek, you got a shitload more problems than I do. _I’m_ not that interesting.” Tweek frowns and crosses his arms. He bites his lip.

“You look like shit.” Tweek settles on. “What happened to your shoe?” Craig glares and drops the shoe on the old, rug covered floor. It thuds softly and the noise surprises both of them.

“Why are _you_ up this late anyway?” Craig paces. “How come you’re never asleep? Come on, _say something_.”

“Gah, why are you being this way?” Tweek rubs his feet against each other to warm himself up.

“Well, look at yourself! What happened to _you_ tonight, huh?”

“Really, you, ngh, _r-really_ wanna know?”

“Does it look like I want anything else here?”

“Maybe the other half of your shoe.” Tweek says cheekily.

“Don’t do that, man.” Craig gives him a frustrated look and Tweek narrows his eyes.

“Okay, _fine_!” Tweek sighs shakily and looks around. “I can’t sleep at night because I’m afraid of bombs,” He mutters, like he hasn’t said it out loud before. The words feel different when they speak. “I hear screaming when, when n-no one’s saying _anything_! I like dead people because they’re so q-quiet and my parents are f-fucking meth heads.” Tweek laughs. “Am I sharing _now_?”

“There. See. Was that so hard?” Craig sighs exasperatedly before slumping to the ground. Tweek sits on his bed, muddy prints marking up the sheets and stares down at Craig. “When was the last time you slept?” Tweek smiles cockily.

“A Tuesday in ‘99.” Craig glares.

“You little fucker.” Craig shakes his head and a consistent dripping of blood pours from his nose. “Ah, shit.”

“You’re bleeding, too?!” Tweek leaps up. “ _Jesus_ , man, what happened?”

“No, no, it’s fine.”

“Don’t hold your head back! Here, here, lean forward. Oh _god_ , there’s so much!”

“Tweek, it’s fine.”

“Craig! Just shut up and pinch your fucking nose, for chrissakes! I’m getting cloth.”

“Ooh, cloth? _Cloth,_  I feel so royal when you get _cloth_.”

“ _Ngh_ , why are you such an asshat, seriously?” Tweek's annoyance can be heard from down the hall.

“I don’t know, Tweek.” Craig sighs. Tweek comes back into the room, some kind of cotton fabric with little stars on it and puts it under Craig’s nose. “That’s pretty.”

“Yeah, I thought you’d like it. Don’t I deserve to know what went down _now_?”

“Would ya believe me if I said I bit a doorknob?”

“If you lost four teeth, then maybe. Smile.” Craig grins, then grimaces and it’s all a bit bloody. Tweek counts his teeth. “Nah, you didn’t bite a doorknob. Everything’s there, even the wonky one. Who’d you fight, man?” Craig lets go of his nose. “Pinch it! Don’t let go. We have to stop it from bleeding. Gotta be at least five minutes of this.” Craig groans.

“I didn’t fight anyone, _dad_.”

“That’s funny. You’re so damn funny.” They don’t speak for a while and the blood seems to be clotting. Tweek concentrates on wiping off Craig’s face and there’s a raw red stain under his nose. “You’re such a mess.” Tweek frowns. Craig stares, watches Tweek assess him for anymore bodily damage. “I think they broke your nose.”

“Told you; nobody did anything.”

“Liar,” Tweek shakes his head. “Alright, so I guess the _doorknob_ did it. Doesn’t it hurt?”

“Not as much as your face.” Tweek gives him the most annoyed expression. Craig laughs. “Sorry, it slipped.”

“Gah, that’s so vintage, man! When did you become a hipster?”

“I don’t know, when did your feet get so muddy?”

“Fine,” Tweek mutters. “Fine, fine, _fine_! If I tell you what I did tonight, you gotta tell me how come you’re bleeding all over my rug.”

“It was just a little blood.” Craig shifts.

“Craig! _A little blood_ is too much blood!”

“Not if it’s in your body!”

“You are so fucking annoying!”

“Right back at you, buddy!” Both of them huff around for a minute. Craig grumbles and Tweek twists his legs around. “Well?”

“Well _w-what_?” Craig rolls his eyes.

“Care to explain to me why you went looking for bigfoot?”

“Fuck you, man.” Tweek stretches out on the floor and looks up at his clock. 3:43AM. Fun. He shuts his eyes. “My parents buried something of mine a long time ago. They sent me a note, their supplier got busted so they’re, they’re _gone_. The house is foreclosed. Goes up for sale in three weeks. I was,” Tweek grits his teeth. “I was trying to find something before that house leaves, too.”

“I didn’t realize.” Craig mumbles. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“No, Craig, I, I didn’t even find the goddamn---look, it doesn’t matter. I told you, now you talk.”

“I have nothing to say.” Tweek sits up and sends the most killer death glare at Craig.

“You’ve gotta be shitting me! I pour my goddamn _heart_ out and you can’t e-even tell me why you’re missing half of your shoe? Goddammit, Craig! Fuck you!”

“Okay! Okay, _Jesus_ .” Craig breathes, while Tweek tries to calm himself down. “Tweek, put those daggers down. I was _gonna_ tell you. Four breaths, bud?” Tweek frowns and settles back into the floor. “I went to see my father.” Craig laughs bitterly. “Ended up at a bar. I got drunk. I fell off a barstool. I ran into some guys from high school ---- you know, Token, Clyde.”

“You saw those guys?” Tweek bites on his thumb. “Is that...that why you’re missing your sole?”

“We --- well, yeah, I _guess_ we --- placed a bet and I lost so they fucked with my shoe. So, yeah. This was their fault.”

“What was the bet?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“It mattered enough for you to bet your shoe on it.” Tweek groans as the gears in his brain start working towards his advantage. A rare moment. “Ugh, no, no, no man. No. You didn’t think you were convincing as a time traveller _again_ , did you? Ngh, _seriously_ , man? We talked about this, you can’t just go around pretending to be from communist Russia. It really freaks people out and that’s why we don’t have any friends! Or business! Hence,” Tweek shakes an empty box of crackers. “No food.” Craig rolls his eyes and waves off Tweek.

“It’s not Fedya’s fault we have no food.”

“Awh, _come on_ , man! I told you _not_ to name your alter ego!”

“Let's not make this thing about Fedya a big deal. ‘Sides, the _economy_ is the reason we have no food and,” Craig lowers his voice and puts on a terrible Russian accent. “In Soviet Russia, food has you.”

“Craig, dammit---”

“Fedya.”

“I’m not having this discussion _again_ ! I will never be a communist and neither will you.” They’re both silent as Craig refuses to come to terms with the fact he’s American. “In theory, yeah, it’s a nice idea... _Fedya_.” Tweek cringes and Craig grins. “But it never works out! Name one instance that didn’t end in corruption! Can’t, can you? That’s ‘cause it doesn’t exist, Craig! Communism doesn’t work! It relies on everyone to be trustworthy and people are fucking scary.”

“Tweek, name _anything_ that hasn’t ended in corruption and I’ll give you a gold star.”

“You can’t afford a gold star.”

“Fine, then I’ll give you debt.”

“Debt?”

“Yeah, debt. I give you my debt,” Craig lifts his hands up high. “Here it is on this platter. It’s silver, in case you can’t see it. It’s imaginary, too, so that may be an issue.”

“Doesn’t that usually come along with... _ngh_ ...something _else_ ? I don’t know if I want _your_ debt.”

“Don’t bite a gift horse in the face.”

“Gah! W-why would I do _that_?! That’s just mean to horses!”

“You know what I meant.”

“You got really drunk. That much is clear. Besides the fact that I’ve got your bar tab as my debt n---”

“---actually, Token paid to see me wasted. So, I think I won there.”

“Oh really? That’s so great, remind me to, _ngh_ , thank him for leaving you stranded with no w-walking shoes in February and a state of mind that literally says ‘Rob me blind, beat me up or, or r-ra----”

“Whoa, hey, hey, now. Don’t get worked up. I’m fine, man. Promise.”

“What happened before you almost died? Oh, I’m sorry,” Tweek coughs. “Before you were ‘winning’? Did Clyde h-hit you?”

“Why would you assume that? We drank some more, I went to see my mother and,” Craig sighs. “Got punched in the throat and nose by a disease.”

“I thought,” Tweek mumbles. “That she was getting better.”

“I thought so, too.”

“She wouldn’t, wouldn’t _do_ that if she knew you were real. She would never. She thinks she’s protecting you.”

“Yeah.” Craig agrees unconvincingly.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going out tonight? We could’ve gone somewhere.” Tweek bites his lip. “I didn’t want to go to the graveyard alone anyway but that’s where I ended up.”

“You went to the graveyard tonight? How are the Falco’s?”

“They say hello. They want you to stop visiting the Bruschi's, though.”

“Why?” Craig laughs.

“They’re feuding again. Elections are coming up. You know, people die but politics never do.”

“I know you hate it when I get drunk, Tweek.” Craig says after some silence has passed.

“I just _wish_ you wouldn’t! But I would’ve gone with you, I-I wouldn’t have...”

“Wouldn’t have what?”

“Let you go... _ngh_. You know, to see your m-mother.” Tweek sighs.

“It’s alright, I kinda deserved it.”

“That’s bullshit, Craig. ” Craig picks at the rug. “Don’t go thinking that you deserved it, that you deserved to be h-hurt like _that_ by someone you love.”

“Marry me.” Tweek shakes worse than Craig’s seen him in years. His eyes are pretty and huge, with the whites showing a lot more than they should be. Craig would laugh if his friend didn’t look like he’d have a goddamn heart attack. No, that’s the funny part. “Thought you were recovering from the addiction.” Tweek doesn’t speak, just looks pretty stuck. And a little sick. Craig feels a little sick. Maybe asking your best friend, business partner and housemate to marry you when you've downed a lot of whisky isn't a good idea. “It’s alright; you don’t have to say anything. I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

“Well, you d-did!” Tweek finally says.

“I’m sorry, look, it was just a joke.” Craig mumbles. 

“It, it didn’t _sound_ like a joke, that’d be a shitty time to joke! It sounds like you want to,” Tweek swallows. “You know."

“It was just a little joke.”

“A fucked up one at that!”

“I’m sorry, Tweek, I didn’t realize you’d get so upset. I mean, you joke about dead people all the time!”

“Well, marriage, man! It's not like death, it's a, it’s a very serious thing! I mean, what’s even funny about your j-joke?!" Tweek air quotes. "Where is the punchline?!”

“I’m sor---”

“Seriously, tell me where the p-punchline is!”

“Tweek, I _really_ didn’t think you’d be s----”

“Are you just making fun of me? I really didn’t think you were that kind of an asshole!”

“I--how is _that_ making fun of you? What, that you’d marry someone like me? Is that what makes it insulting?”

“ _No_ , Jesus Christ, Craig! You’re a fucking fool, I mean really!? Really? Just because I love you doesn’t mean I’ll follow everything you do b-blindly! _God_ , you’re so annoying sometimes!”

“You love me? Like,” Craig mutters unsure. "In love with... _me_?"

“Of course I am, you, you douchebag!” Craig laughs when he understands the situation they're in. It's really goddamn funny how oblivious they both are. Tweek gets up to leave, Craig sticks his foot out in front of the door to stop him. 

“Will you just,” Craig smiles at Tweek, whose anger is fading into something else, something more melancholy. Craig’s got twisting guts. He wrings his hands together. “Listen to me? Let me explain?”

“What, you got any more proposals there?” Tweek bites, but it’s softer. 

“Oh, fuck you, Tweek.” Craig mutters and kind of regrets using _that_ terminology. It sits a little uncomfortably between them. Craig pulls out his wallet and Tweek looks on curiously. “I didn’t,” Craig starts before shifting around on the floor and tossing something small at him. Tweek fumbles to catch it. “Here. I know it’s not jewelry.” Craig grimaces at the awkwardness of this conversation. He didn’t ever imagine it would happen like this, but they’re a pretty odd pair of friends anyway. Did he expect fireworks? Nah. Honestly, that’d be really lame. "I wasn't joking, okay? I meant what I said. Marry me?" Craig’s more than a bit drunk and he's pretty sure this counts as desperate but he feels like his insides are gonna fly away. Plus, he doesn’t have a good shoe left. Everything’s pretty much in the air. Tweek unwraps the parcel. It’s an old harmonica, broken notes and missing a panel. Tweek looks at it like it’s made of gold.

“Holy shit, man! Where’d you find this?!” Tweek exclaims, almost tripping over Craig before slumping on the floor next to him.

“Doesn’t matter.” Craig grins, only just now seeming to process all this information. “You _love_ me.”

“I thought it was obvious,” Tweek groans and squeezes his eyes shut. Craig looks at him like he's waiting for more words. “Ugh, don’t make me say it.”

“Say it, please.” Craig grins.

“You, _ngh,_ force me to breathe, okay? I don’t know, man. Then you go and find _this_ ,” Tweek picks up the harmonica, laughs and shakes his head. “I don’t have any other words for it, I just love you.”

“You wanna know the real reason I’m without a shoe?” Tweek sniffs. “Dude, are you,” Craig asks, concerned. “Are you _crying_?”

“No, fuck you,” Tweek mutters. Craig furrows his eyebrows. “ _Gah_ , it’s what? Five in the fucking morning and I have everything I want. I mean, besides sleep, but that’s okay. Even the goddamn harmonica came back! It’s a weird feeling. I feel weird. I feel too lucky, yeah. I don’t know, I don’t even feel like you’re... _r-real_ right now.”

“Here, smell this,” Craig holds up the shoe to Tweek’s face and he bats it away. “Reality back?”

“You ruined the moment, asshole!”

“Naw, the good smells are just fresher now. Gotta keep you in check.”

“What’s the r-real reason you lost your shoe?”

“I have something to confess. I lied about Fedya. He didn’t --- the bet wasn’t about Fedya.”

“No shit, dude.” Tweek scoffs.

“Clyde said I was all talk, no guns.” Craig starts. “He said I never express anything to them. I don’t share, he said, and---”

“Aaaand you came back here to project your feelings onto me? S’that what I’m hearing?”” 

“ _No_ , asshole, wait a second. Listen here, I tell you a ton of stuff. I’m good at sharing.”

“Dude, I have to pry feelings out of you with a pitchfork.”

“That’s a horrible image.”

“That’s how it feels, though! Imagine how it _sounds_ ,” Tweek cringes. “But look, we wouldn’t be having this conversation if you didn’t drink...what, let's see,” Tweek leans over to smell Craig and backs away. “ _Christ_ , I’m gonna get secondhand drunk just from sitting next to you.”

“It was just a _little_ whisky.” Craig shifts.

“Did your serving size come in baby elephant?”

“What the fuck kind of a sarcastic comeback is that, Tweek? Get on your toes.”

“I can’t. I’m dazed. My best friend just proposed to me. If I knew how hashtags worked, I’d tweet about this.”

"We're letting go of twitter, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah."

“Clyde and Token bet I wouldn’t tell you any of this shit.”

“You know, you haven’t told me all that much. I'd still say you deserved your shoe getting cut in half.”

“What, you want me to say it?”

“Yeah, Craig, that’d be neato.” Craig shuts his eyes and groans.

“I---”

“--no, no, you gotta look me in the face. Open your eyes. That’s how it works.”

“Who told you how this stuff worked?”

“Netflix. The rom-com section. You gotta look deeply into my eyes.”

“Fuck that, I don’t want to get hypnotized.”

“What makes you think that you’re not already hypnotized?”

“Dude,” Craig leans back. “Don’t fuck with my brain right now.”

“Quit stalling.”

“Fine, Tweek,” Craig opens his eyes wide. “I love your stupid ugly face.”

“Mine was so much sweeter.” Tweek laughs.

“Well, I proposed.”

“That’s fair, man. Still.” Tweek looks out the window and hums. Craig takes Tweek’s hand.

“I might have lost the best sneaker I’ve known but at least I got something out of this night.”

“You’re really gonna say that when your other sneaker is, _ngh_ , right there?”

“Yes, because I mean it. I truly mean it.”

“Douchebag.”

“Yeah, I guess that makes you Mr. Bag?”

“Pft, we already got a lot of problems if you think I’m taking your last name.”

"Awh, come on, why not?"

"What do you think all those kids were calling you in Middle School behind your back? Think, man, what did you love and what rhymes with 'Tucker'?" Craig gasps. 

"No! No, not guinea pig fu---"

"Yep."

"Well, it's not like Twe---" Tweek gives him an evil eye. 

"Be careful what you say, man. That's my first name, too."

"You got a lot of shit for that, too, if I remember, _Tweek the Freak_."

"Yeah," Tweek rolls his eyes. "That's _so_ much worse than guinea pig fu---"

"Okay, okay. I get it. Well," Craig yawns. "We can decide in the morning." 5:32 AM, the clock reads. 

"Ding-dong." Tweek hums. 

"Shit. That's late."

"You got a pen on you?"

"Uh, maybe...why?" Craig protectively clutches the felt-tipped pen in his pocket. Tweek holds out his hand. Craig puts his other hand over Tweek's. Tweek laughs. 

"No, I want the---"

"---the pen, yeah, yeah. I got it." Craig hands it over cautiously. "Be nice to it." 

"You're so weird. This is just in case you forget what happened." Tweek grabs Craig's hand and draws a line around his ring finger. He draws an arrow towards it and writes on Craig's palm. When he finishes, Craig inspects the chicken scratch writing. 

"' _He put a ring on it, m_ _arried in Vegas, also told Tweek you'd give him debt. Get coffee, you lazy sonnuvagun._ '" Craig reads with furrowed eyebrows. Craig grins, doe-eyed and stupidly looks into Tweek's face. "You confuse the hell out of me, man." 

"E-eternity of this. We have fun." 


End file.
